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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24817312">A Hero's Gambit</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/demiclar/pseuds/demiclar'>demiclar</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Destiny (Video Games)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>(Working Title), Destiny 2 Forsaken, M/M, Post Cayde Death, Pre Gambit Prime, RIP, Set during Forsaken expansion, figuring it out as I go, this is going to be a RIDE</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 02:47:25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>13,042</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24817312</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/demiclar/pseuds/demiclar</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Ever loyal to the Vanguard, the Traveler's Chosen finds his life turned upside down when he disobeys a direct order in going to the Tangled Shore to avenge Cayde-6. When he returns home, he meets a mysterious man called the Drifter, and he realizes he might like breaking rules after all.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>The Drifter/Guardian (Destiny)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>26</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Toeing the Line</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hello! So I have quite literally just made up a completely new OC for the sole purpose of this fic, so this whole thing is going to be one long character study that I'm going to figure out as I go. Anyways, enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Casimir didn’t know why his feet had carried him to the Bazaar. He wasn’t here to visit Ikora, and he had no clan rewards to claim from Hawthorn, but his feet carried him there anyways. He didn’t know why he found himself turning the corner sharply, moving right into the space that was so close to where Eva Levante would have been set up. Only, this wasn’t Tower North, this wasn’t his old life, before Ghaul. It wasn’t the time before the Traveler had woken up, or after when everything had been hopeful and beautiful, before it had turned to shit and he’d watched his friend die in his arms.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>               Cayde. The spark of pain that the thought of the man summoned in his chest was enough to keep his feet moving, enough to have him ducking under that half-lowered grate and into the little area where the rogue had set up shop.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>               By then, he knew what he was doing. Knew that if Ikora was still at her post in the late hour, she likely saw him duck under that grate. Him, the Traveler’s Chosen, Hivebane, Young Wolf, Crota’s End, Hero of the Red War and everything in between. He’d just made a choice that laughed in the face of all of that, every one of those titles that didn’t matter, not here. How long would it be until word got to Zavala? How long would it be until he learned that his most trusted Titan had gone to the Drifter as night was falling over the city, the darkness creeping in, pushing him to take those last few steps?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>               He stood at the back of the little stall, stood behind Guardians dressed in armor that loved like leather, with antique looking guns on their backs, coins in their hands. He stood and waited as the rogue spoke with them, grinned at them, paid them, until they all departed one by one. Until it was just him, standing at the entrance to the stall, and the Drifter, flipping a coin absently as if Casimir was just one of his regulars.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>               “Been waitin’ for you to show up.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>               The rogue spoke first, flashing him a grin, his hands never slowing as he flipped the coin. Casimir said nothing, his arms crossed over his chest firmly. Titan arrogance, perhaps, but it was as good a shield as any other he wielded.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>               “You here to play my game?” The Drifter asked when he didn’t respond, turning to face him a bit more fully as he did so. “Or are you just going to stand there all night?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>               Casimir shook his head to himself. He was wearing his helmet—as he did most of the time now, hardly even taking it off to sleep—yet there was something about the Drifter’s stare that seemed to pierce right into his own eyes, like there wasn’t thick layers of metal and tech keeping them from sight.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>               “You know me?” He asked instead, his voice steady, calm, even if he was practically committing sacrilege by even speaking to the man. The Drifter only laughed, a harsh noise that skittered along his bones, made his skin tingle.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>               “Course I do.” He answered, “Everyone knows you, Hero.” He dropped his head to the side with another grin, and for some reason Casimir didn’t want to look away, but he did, letting out a scoff as he turned his head. Drifter didn’t comment on it, only kept speaking.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>               “You’re a little earlier than I expected,” He continued, returning to flipping his coin. “What with taking out that prince and all, avenging your buddy. Thought it’d take you a few more weeks to clean up all the messes.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>               “It will.” He answered, but didn’t say anything about Uldren, or Cayde. He’d taken out the Awoken prince about a week ago. Had spent a week drifting from nightmare to nightmare, day and night, before he’d pieced himself together enough to find his way to the Drifter. His clan still hadn’t gone to fight the monster at the heart of the Dreaming City. They were still preparing. Casimir had heard Drifter had gear; powerful gear that could very likely make that fight easier.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>               He let the excuse settle into his chest, held onto it like a lifeline as he gave the Drifter a lazy shrug.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>               “Plenty of messes to go around.” He told the man simply.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>               The rogue huffed another little laugh at that, nodding to him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>               “I hear ya, brother.” He told him, then raised his eyes to meet Casimir’s, straight through his helmet just as he’d done before. “Listen, Hero. I’m in the business of makin’ messes, and you seem to be in the business of cleaning them up.” He gave him a lazy smile. “We could do good things together.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>               Casimir’s eyes narrowed at Drifter’s smile, and he raised his chin with a skeptic tilt of his head.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>               “What do you want from me?” He asked the rogue, to which he only chuckled.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>               “Nothin’,” He answered, “You Lights get worked up too easy. Here,” he flipped the coin he’d been tossing into the air, the green piece flipping through the air until Casimir caught it in a fist. “I know you know about Gambit. Try it out sometime, yeah? Then we’ll talk.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>               Casimir turned the coin over in his hand a few times, pulling his gaze off the Drifter to look down at the shining surface, at the two snakes twined together. When he looked up to reply, the Drifter was already facing away, already tapping at a monitor reading a dozen things Casimir couldn’t care to comprehend. So, he pocketed the coin, and with a long look at the Drifter, he let his feet carry him back out from under the grate, and out into the night.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. A Shot in the Dark</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Casimir tries out Gambit.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello! So I'm not reeaally expecting this story to take off, but I've enjoyed writing it so far so if you enjoy it too, then great!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He waited a day until he sought out the Drifter again. A day of cleaning out the Dreaming City with his clan, a day of planning and reporting to Zavala and Ikora, a day of normalcy so regular it made him sick. No one had breathed a word to him about his visit to the Drifter the night before. His clanmates had already been playing the game for a few weeks now, had gotten into it to distract themselves while he’d gone to the shore to hunt Uldren.</p><p>               Now that he was back, they heckled him over it, saying he was too much of a goody to play the game, too attached to the Vanguard. They said he was like a pet, ate right out of their hands. He’d never minded, never disagreed with anything the Vanguard had asked of him, that is until Zavala had forbid him from going to the shore, from hunting Uldren.</p><p>               Casimir had always respected Zavala, had always understood him, his willingness to do anything for the City, to turn himself into anything, any kind of monster if it meant protecting his home. He’d weathered Ikora’s anger over Cayde’s death for the same reason, as well as the outrage of dozens of Guardians, many going as far as publicly speaking out, declaring Zavala a coward and demanding action be taken. He’d endured it all for the same reason, because as important as his friend had been to him, the City lived on while Cayde didn’t, and Zavala wasn’t about to let another soul die on his watch.</p><p>              But killing Uldren had still saved lives. Cayde hadn’t been the only one to die at his hands. No, since he’d been corrupted, taken, Uldren had slain countless Awoken, his own people, Casimir’s and Zavala’s too, when one really got down to it. Not that the Commander would ever acknowledge the fact. Putting Uldren in the ground saved their lives, too. And given the Reef was the system’s first line of defense, it saved City lives as well, in the long run. At least, that’s what Casmir was telling himself. It was what he’d told himself when he’d returned home, when Zavala hadn’t screamed at him for disobeying a direct order, when his silence had been so much worse. For the good of the City, for the good of the Awoken people, not just this terrible, sickening need for revenge that had chewed him up and spat him back out so thoroughly wrecked he couldn’t even sleep at night. So wrecked he couldn’t remove his helmet anymore for fear of people seeing what had become of him.</p><p>              He was supposed to be a hero. Now, he was nothing more than a broken shell. Everything inside had just…dried up.</p><p>              The sound of his comms clicking on nearly had him crushing his ship’s yoke beneath his hands. Adrenaline flooded his body so thoroughly at the noise his Ghost bumped his shoulder with a little reassuring touch.</p><p>              “Wow, Hero.” The Drifter’s voice sounded from the comms system. “You’re quick.”</p><p>              He shook off his nerves with a breath, honestly unable to tell if the Drifter was mocking him or not.</p><p>              “Shut up.” He told him instead, and the Drifter’s laugh reverberated through his ship before he complied.</p><p>              Moments later, he’d been grouped with seven other Guardians, and he let his Ghost take control of his ship as they moved together through space, orbiting the planet until they found Drifter’s derelict and massive haul hovering somewhere beyond Europe. The ships began to slow as they reached it, and he took his cue to gather his guns and move to the rear of his ship.</p><p>              Soon enough, he was standing in a massive ship, Drifter’s derelict. With a quick glance to get his bearings, he realized he was locked within a transmatt bay, three guardians stood to his left, while four stood across from him within a second bay. Standing on a catwalk to his right and between the two bays, was the Drifter.</p><p>              Casimir didn’t miss the grin aimed precisely for him as he held up a green coin.</p><p>              “Scorn on the field.”</p><p>                He was sure Drifter could feel the heat of his glare as he grinned and told the group that one day, he would find the courage to eat a whole scorn. Casimir’s glare died in a grimace.</p><p>              The Guardian’s around him laughed, and he watched as some danced with one another, while others flipped coins or played guitars made of light. One of them even pet a chicken made of light, no doubt a reference to Cayde’s Colonial. He looked away from them with a hidden wince. Thankfully, whether the other Guardians recognized him or not, they gave no indication. He had a feeling it wouldn’t be like that for long, especially not after he started shooting.</p><p>              Within seconds, he and his team had landed somewhere in the EDZ, the four Guardians landing in a little valley, hills on all sides of them except one, creating a sort of pathway which his teammates immediately charged up.</p><p>              “Alright Hero,” The Drifter spoke in his ear, “You’re new here, so I’ll give you the spiel. Each enemy you take down’ll drop a mote. The bigger the enemy, the more motes. Pick ‘em up, throw ‘em in the bank. Depending on the number of motes, you’ll drop a blocker on the other side. Five motes drops a taken phalanx, ten for a captain and fifteen for a knight. Get the bank to seventy-five motes and you summon a primeval. The boss fight, if you will.”</p><p>              As Drifter spoke, he’d hurried to follow his teammates, staying near the rear of the group to observe even as he helped them take down the scorn that had appeared on the far end of the arena. There were three zones total, three spots where enemies would drop, with the bank in the center of the space, sitting atop the ruins of an old building. As Drifter spoke, his teammates rushed to pick up the motes he spoke of, rushing them to the bank when the little wave of enemies ended.</p><p>                “The primeval is the key to the game. Whoever takes it down first wins the round.” Drifter was finishing, just as he tossed the two motes he’d collected at the rear of the group into the bank. “You got all that, hotshot?”</p><p>                He nodded to himself as he ran with his team to the second wave of scorn. Traveler, the creatures were disgusting. </p><p>              “Kill the enemies, bank the motes, then take out the primeval.” He recalled, and the Drifter hummed in confirmation.</p><p>                “You got it, Hero.” Drifter confirmed. “Now, show me you can be a bad guy.”</p><p> </p><p>                Drifter’s game—quite frankly—was easy. After Drifter’s instruction, he’d quickly taken the front of his team, taking down scorn left and right with the brutal efficiency that had made him become the Traveler’s chosen, the same brutality that had kept him alive for so long. He snatched up the motes his enemies dropped, throwing them into the bank when he had a spare moment, usually in heaps of over ten, much to the Drifter’s delight.</p><p>              Drifter had no problem heaping him with praise, though somehow he never felt smothered, and found Drifter’s excitement was contagious after he dropped a large blocker on the enemy team and Drifter positively roared.</p><p>                He’d been just about to do it again, smugly looking forward to what Drifter would say this time, when a bullet collided with the front of his helmet, cutting sideways in front of his eyes so close the metal shattered, and it was only the build of the helmet that kept him from being stabbed by the debris. He scrambled for cover, confusion blaring through him as he recognized the sound of the shot rolling over the arena. Sniper fire, but…Drifter hadn’t said anything about it in the rules. </p><p>              He raised his head to look around, careful not to edge too far out from where he’d ducked behind the bank. </p><p>                “Drifter, what is—”</p><p>              The words died on his lips, literally, for just as he’d spoken them, he spotted the sniper a moment too late, his words cutting off as his skull exploded from the force of the bullet that tore through it.</p><p>              Drifter’s laughter was still echoing through his comms when his Ghost brought him back at the entrance to the arena. </p><p>              “Real funny.” He remarked dryly, but his gun was already raised as he headed back out into the arena, his eyes scanning for the sniper likely still present. His teammates were already a step ahead of him, however, and a Titan nailed the Guardian with a volley of flaming hammers before he could even get into shooting distance. </p><p>              “Whoo!” Drifter let out a sigh as he controlled his laughter. “Sorry, Hero. Just had to see how you’d react. Nothin’ personal.”</p><p>              “Right.” He murmured back with a little scoff. </p><p>                Still, the rest of the round went off without a hitch, his team filling their bank and summoning their primeval before the other team had even reached their bank’s halfway point. They had the primeval down before the other team had even summoned their own, and it felt like only minutes had passed before Drifter had pulled them back into the Derelict and he was face to face with the other team again. </p><p>                “Opposing team, do better.” Drifter was telling the Guardian’s opposite him. “Everyone else is doing great.”</p><p>              He shot Casimir’s team a grin, and Casimir dragged his gaze quickly from the pan’s face to the team across from him. One of them had a sniper rifle in their hands, their gaze locked on him. As he saw them, they gave him a little nod, a jerk of their chin. Taunting him, he realized, reminding him of how quickly they’d knocked him down. They lifted their rifle just slightly, just as the transmatt fired and he appeared in the valley once more.</p><p>                “So, Hero,” Drifter spoke in his ear just as his feet hit the dirt. “Saw you givin’ that sniper the stink-eye. You gonna make ‘em pay?</p><p>                “That’s what the portal’s for, isn’t it?” He asked in response. Drifter only laughed.</p><p>                After Drifter had so kindly not told him about the invasion part of Gambit, he’d picked up on the mechanic from the messages he’d called out to the rest of his team. Apparently, the large circular machine beside the bank was a controlled taken portal, activated by banking motes. Each team could send one player at a time over to the other team’s arena, where they’d try to take out as many enemy players as they could before Drifter pulled them back over to their own side, or they were killed by the other Guardians.</p><p>                “I like your style, brother.” Drifter told him, and Casimir could hear his smile lingering in his tone.</p><p>              Unfortunately, the other team wasn’t about to let themselves be outplayed. Casimir kept his eye on the bottom left of his display, where his Ghost kept a little running commentary of what was occurring in the match around him, including when the invasion portals were activated. The opposing team had theirs active in minutes, right after they dropped two knights, a captain and a phalanx to block their bank. A moment later, Drifter was warning them of an incoming invader, and Casimir grabbed his gun and ran to one end of the field. </p><p>                He wasn’t able to find the sniper until two of his teammates hit the dirt—much to his annoyance. When he did find them they were ready for him, just as they had been before. He was only able to get two shots on them with his scout rifle before they nailed him, too. He was sure his Ghost could feel his annoyance from beyond the grave as he looked through their eye.</p><p>              By the time he was up again and returning to the field, the invader was gone, but thankfully Drifter wasn’t laughing this time. </p><p>                “Do you think that kid knows he’s knockin’ down the chosen one?” Drifter asked in his ear, and he rolled his eyes in annoyance. </p><p>              “Shut up.” He told the man, who only chucked. The sniper would find out soon enough. As soon as he took them down and their Ghost told them who’d killed them.</p><p>              As soon as his team’s invasion portal was up, he leapt into it, gathering his bearings quickly as he realized the enemy team’s arena was a perfect copy of his own. How Drifter had managed that, he didn’t ask. </p><p>              “Go punk ‘em.” Drifter told him, just as he ran out of a short tunnel that had kept him concealed from the other Guardian’s view. </p><p>              The first Guardian that spotted him met a flaming hammer to the face, as did the second. By the third, Drifter was yelling, and when he finally found the sniper with one second until he was pulled back, he flung a final hammer hard and true. Drifter was roaring when he landed on his own side, the final kill registering after he’d been pulled from the enemy arena.</p><p>              “Woo!” Drifter was yelling in his ear, “You took ‘em all out!”</p><p>              Casimir couldn’t help the grin on his face even as his Ghost quickly lowered Drifter’s volume in his helmet, murmuring something about how loud the man was being. Still, he quieted down quickly enough.</p><p>              “Say, Hero, if you ever get sick of runnin’ for the Vanguard, you come to me. I got a few jobs you could help me out with.” Drifter told him as he headed back into the fray.</p><p>                “You know, Drifter,” Casimir replied, and he wasn’t sure quite why he spoke the words he did, “I might just take you up on that.”</p><p><br/>
              Despite the other team’s attempted comeback at the beginning of the round, his team quickly stepped up their game, and they had the match within moments. When the match was over, Casimir found himself loading into the cue again, and again, and again, until he was exhausted yet exhilarated, and Drifter was finishing up with the last match of the night, dumping enough glimmer into his hands that he swore. It was no wonder Guardians were so hooked on Gambit, he realized as he’d found his way home in the late hours of the night. As startling as it was, being out in that arena, with the Drifter singing his praises in his ear, it was the most okay he’d felt in weeks. Enough that he’d forgotten about Cayde, and Uldren and the Dreaming City, at least for a few hours.</p><p>              When he found his way to his bed that night, and he shucked his armor off onto the floor, his head hit his pillow and after what must’ve been weeks, he dropped into a deep, dreamless sleep.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. An Unlikely Confidant</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Casimir runs into a sticky situation with the Vanguard. Drifter seems to be the solution.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I'm so sorry I suck at summaries. Also, if you haven't already noticed, I'm going to make this into a fic with shorter chapters that are posted more often, then maybe I'll rework the fic when I'm done and combine the chapters together later.<br/>Anyways, I hope you like the chapter!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Why have you let the Drifter stay at the Tower?”</p><p>The words slipped out of his mouth before he could stop them, before he realized how dangerous of a situation, he was getting himself into by speaking them. He was standing in the Vanguard war room, standing before one of the holo-tables, his eyes cast down at a topographical depiction of the Dreaming City, built completely out of light. It was centered around the area that had been opened up for Guardians to access as they pleased, little blue dots marking each Corsair that was stationed in the area.</p><p>To his left, at the head of the table, stood Commander Zavala, dressed in us usual silver armor, not a shadow of grief present on his face. Casimir’s fireteam had just left, after they’d updated the Commander and Ikora on their plans for the City, and for the raid they were about to launch on the monster within the Dreaming City. Now that they had the Commander’s approval, they’d go ahead with the mission any day now, but that wasn’t what was on Casimir’s mind.</p><p>Zavala’s eyes lifted to him at his words, and Casimir didn’t miss the way Ikora turned subtly where she stood at a different table, books and papers spread out before her. She turned so her back was half facing them, giving them the illusion of privacy, though Casimir had no doubt she was listening in.</p><p>“I know you know what he’s doing.” He continued when Zavala didn’t answer. “You both do.” He added, and Ikora glanced back at that.</p><p>“And what is that?” She asked him when Zavala didn’t respond. Her eyes flickered over the Commander briefly before settling on Casimir’s helmeted face.</p><p>“Using the Darkness.” He answered. “He uses the motes in his game to power something, keeps getting Guardians to play the game so he can keep amassing resources.”</p><p>“Have you played his game?”</p><p>His stomach dropped a little at the question, but there was no judgement in Ikora’s tone, just curiosity, and something more… like she was using the question to lead him somewhere. Regardless, her eyes nailed him to the spot, and he knew there was no point in lying as he nodded silently.</p><p>“Do you believe he is a threat to the Tower?” Zavala asked, and his voice surprised him enough that he quickly glanced to the other man. “To the City?”</p><p>He dropped his gaze as he considered it. The Drifter might have been using the Darkness to run his schemes, but he wasn’t being corrupted by it, he didn’t place any value in it. The Darkness was just as he’d said, another weapon, what mattered was how he wielded it.</p><p>“No.” He answered finally, “But I still think we should be careful around him.” He rose his eyes to Zavala again. “He doesn’t believe in you.”</p><p>Zavala nodded at that, likely because he knew full well what the Drifter thought of him. Soft. Casimir had a feeling he already knew the Drifter didn’t trust him to protect the City, and that he likely didn’t believe in protecting the City anyways, didn’t see the worth in protecting anyone but himself.</p><p>“The Drifter comes from an older time.” Zavala answered, “I have no use for his trust or his faith, and I care little for his out of date ways of thinking.”</p><p>“So why let him stay?” Casimir asked. “Just because he’s not a threat doesn’t mean he’s good to have around.”</p><p>“However…unorthodox his methods, the Drifter’s game has the potential to do good things for the Tower.” Zavala explained, “Not to mention, it’s no accident the Drifter has been alive for as long as he has. He’s seen things some can only imagine. In time, his knowledge may prove useful to us.”</p><p>“Maybe.” Casimir breathed. He was probably right. When wasn’t he? “I’m just concerned, that’s all.”</p><p>“I understand, Casimir.” Zavala promised. “We’re keeping a close eye on him. If you continue to play his game, I would appreciate if you reported back to me on any suspicious developments.”</p><p>Casimir nodded, because there was nothing else for him to do. Still, the Drifter had showed him a sort of kindness. He hadn’t asked anything of him, had paid him well and had kept him entertained. He also didn’t much like the idea of becoming a snitch, but the City came first, didn’t it?</p><p>“Guardian, I-“ Zavala broke off, and Casimir lifted his gaze to the Commander as he seemed genuinely at a loss for words. “You’re not the only one who is concerned.” He said at last, and Casimir’s stomach twisted, just as he watched Ikora fully turn her back this time. “I am concerned. About you.”</p><p>When Casimir said nothing, Zavala continued.</p><p>“After what happened to Cayde…I know we didn’t part on the best of terms.”</p><p>“You did what you had to, Zavala.” He told him. Not Commander, not Sir, Zavala was speaking to him as a friend, not as a superior. “But someone had to take action. It’s better this way. It’s safer that it was me.”</p><p>Sure, it was safer that he went than any of the new light’s eager to prove themselves, or any of the veterans to blinded by their own rage and hatred to think clearly about how dangerous of a situation they were getting into. But was it really better? Everything—Traveler <em>everything</em>—would have been so much easier if he’d let someone else go after Uldren. If he hadn’t cleaved this rift between himself and the Vanguard. Did Zavala even trust him anymore? Should he, after what he’d done?</p><p>Pain stung him deep in his core at the thoughts, and he heaved a deep breath through his too tight chest. His chest plate was beginning to feel to heavy, too tight, like it was working to put pressure on a wound, only the wound seemed to be his whole chest cavity. His armor began to feel too bulky, too heavy as it pressed down on him, making it harder and harder to breathe.</p><p>“Guardian, I don’t want to invade your privacy but- “</p><p>“Then don’t.” The words were spurred on by pain, dropping from his mouth before he could think to stop them, and he watched as a flicker of pain flashed across Zavala’s face before he charged on ahead once more, ever the Titan.</p><p>“Casimir,” he tried again, “I haven’t seen you take off your helmet since you came home from the Tangled Shore, which isn’t normal for you. And, your clanmates have told me you’re rarely at your apartment anymore. Are you alright?”</p><p>He had to get out of this war room. Had to go somewhere he could breathe and fight and kick, and the sooner the better.</p><p>“I’m fine, Zavala.” He promised, the lie breezing off his tongue even as he felt like he was gasping for breath. “I haven’t taken off my helmet because there’s a nasty burn on my face that my Ghost has been having a hard time healing and I got tired of people asking me about it.” He told the Commander. Not a total lie this time. While he’d been fighting the Scorn Barons, he’d gotten a nasty burn on his cheek and neck from whatever acid had been in the Machinist’s dumpy lake. For whatever reason, his Ghost hadn’t been able to get rid of it.</p><p>“And I’ve been sleeping in my ship instead of going back to my apartment because the whole system is fucked up right now and the Vanguard isn’t the only group that needs my help right now.” Somewhere in his head, his Ghost snapped at him for his words, for cursing in front of Zavala. He couldn’t bring himself to care, or to really listen to what she’d said. “The clan is probably overreacting. They worry.”</p><p>The last lie came off his tongue with a bit more bite. He could only think of one person who’d really worried about him, who took time to notice when he didn’t return until the wee hours of the morning after spending the night getting blackout drunk in the City. It wasn’t like it could really hurt him, anyways.</p><p>His Ghost was back at it again, but his panic was turning to a sort of anger that was so deafening he wouldn’t have heard her if he tried. He did however, hear Zavala attempting an apology, and he quickly shook his head, holding up a hand as he stepped back from the table.</p><p>“No, I’m sorry.” He told the man, though his tone didn’t make the apology too convincing. “I’m going to go.”</p><p>He didn’t wait for Zavala’s reply as he marched away from the table, breezing past a stunned looking Ikora and out into the open air beyond.</p><p> </p><p>Casimir fled the war room as fast as he could. Anger still rolled through him, but he decided it was best to let it calm rather than allow himself to try to work it out. He couldn’t tolerate his clanmates enough to head to the Dreaming City—or anywhere else—and fight with them. He couldn’t go to the Crucible because he was pretty sure he’d murder someone not for sport if he had to hear Shaxx yelling, and he couldn’t play Gambit again because he wasn’t sure what he’d do if he heard Drifter give him one more word of praise about how well he killed.</p><p>But his feet carried him to the Bazaar again, and Drifter wasn’t there when he made it to his little stall, the gate firmly locked down. The next thing he knew, he was on his ship, his comms connecting to the Drifter’s before he quite knew what he was doing.</p><p>“Drifter.” He said into the comms, hardly even waiting for the indication that he’d connected correctly.</p><p>“Hero? That you?” Came the rogue’s reply, just slightly garbled as their comms finally locked on.</p><p>“Yeah. I need to talk to you.” He didn’t know what he was doing, didn’t know what he was saying even as he held the words in his mind and waited for the Drifter to respond.</p><p>“Well, you’ve got me now, talk.”</p><p>“It’s about the Vanguard.” And shouldn’t be spoken about in open air, he didn’t need to add.</p><p>“Well, shit.” The Drifter responded, though he sounded almost pleased. “Meet me on the Derelict.”</p><p>He didn’t listen to his Ghost when she demanded to know what the hell he was doing, nor did he respond when she snapped at him, clearly tired of the silence he’d asked her to keep since he’d left the war room.</p><p> </p><p>Drifter was standing on the catwalk when he transmatted inside, peering down at him as he landed in one of the transmatt bays, now empty save for him, their barriers down and lights off. The rogue beckoned him closer with a wave of a hand, seating himself down on one of two stools set beside the railing.</p><p>“So, Vanguard got you pissed or somethin’?” Drifter asked him as he approached, moving into the center of the space before starting up the staircase that led up to the Drifter. His head raised when he heard his words.</p><p>“What makes you think I’m pissed?” He knew he’d done little to suppress it, but he certainly hadn’t acted on the feeling yet, nor had he removed his helmet to allow the Drifter to see it on his face.</p><p>Drifter barked a laugh, leaning back on his stool enough to raise two of the legs from the floor.</p><p>“Please,” He said, shaking his head. “You’re walkin’ the same way you did after that invader sniped your ass. Look like you wanna kill somebody. I’m just hopin’ it ain’t me.”</p><p>He’d reached the other man by the time he’d finished, sliding onto the open stool as he shook his head.</p><p>“No, it’s not you. It’s my clanmates. And the Vanguard.” He explained, even as he drew in a deep breath to try and calm down the emotions.</p><p>“What’d they do?” Drifter asked, propping an elbow up on the railing behind him.</p><p>“Apparently they’ve been reporting about me to Zavala behind my back. I guess they don’t think I’m handling everything very well.” What was he saying? Why was he telling Drifter these things? Drifter, the man who’d double cross him in a heartbeat if it meant buying himself another minute of survival.</p><p>“The thing with your buddy and the prince?” Drifter asked him, and he only nodded. “Are you?”</p><p>He raised his eyes at the question, finding the Drifter had pushed himself off the railing and was leaning forward on his stool, watching him intently. He dropped his gaze to the floor once more.</p><p>“Probably not.”</p><p>Memories of what he’d done in Drifter’s Gambit the night before flashed though his head, and from nights before that. He’d gone down to the city night after night to drink himself into a stupor. Anything to suppress the feelings that arose when he remembered Uldren or Cayde. He grimaced under his helmet.</p><p>Drifter rose with a heavy sigh. “You need a drink, hotshot.” He told him, and Casimir gave a weak laugh.</p><p>When he returned, he held two glasses filled with amber liquid. He offered one to Casimir, taking his seat again as he took it and stared into the glass.</p><p>“You’ll have to take your helmet off to drink it.” Drifter reminded him as he stared, as he debated. “If you don’t want it, I’ll take it back. I’m not about to waste good alcohol.”</p><p>“No, I’ll take it. Thanks.” He replied a bit slowly, his voice softer than he’d intended. Carefully, he set the drink down on the floor beside his stool, then reached up to carefully undo the locks on his helmet. With a deep breath, he pulled it off his head and into his hands, lowering it down to rest on the floor beside his stool.</p><p>Drifter let out a low whistle when he straightened up again, drink in hand. To his responding glare, the man only grinned, taking a swallow of his drink.</p><p>“No wonder you’ve been wearin’ that thing all the time. That looks rough, brother.” The Drifter said, and Casimir only frowned.</p><p>Still, he was right. While he’d been fighting the Machinist, the helmet he’d been wearing shattered after he’d slammed his head into a rock. In order to keep fighting, he’d had to take it off. One of the Baron’s lackeys had taken the opportunity to rev their pike, spraying him with the acid from the Machinist’s lake. His armor had taken the brunt of it, but the acid had left a set of burns on his face and neck, one along his right cheekbone stretching all the way back to his ear, and another along the right of his neck, the acid having slipped under his collar all the way down to where his neck met his shoulder.</p><p>“Your Ghost can’t heal that up?” Drifter asked him, sitting up a little to look at the wounds, the burns an angry, ugly yellow on his light blue skin.</p><p>Casimir raised his glass to his lips, taking a sip before he answered. He didn’t care what it was, the burn in his throat as he swallowed was enough to tell him it was what he needed.</p><p>“No.” He answered once he’d swallowed, “Not that she hasn’t tried.” He added at the flicker of indignity that sparked at the edge of his consciousness. “Neither of us have been able to figure out why.”</p><p>Drifter hummed thoughtfully at that, but didn’t offer him any suggestions or solutions.</p><p>“I’ve had a few things like that in my time.” Drifter told him after a moment, them knocked back the rest of his drink and set the glass on the floor. “Sometimes it just takes time.”</p><p>Casimir hummed in understanding, still nursing his drink. The Derelict was colder than he’d expected it to be now that he’d removed his helmet. Thanks to his armor, his body was warm, but the cold seemed to soothe the heat still lingering in the burns, easing away the pain with the help of the drink.</p><p>“So,” Drifter said after another moment, “You said you were mad at the Vanguard too. That have anything to do with what you came to tell me?”</p><p>He nodded, taking another swallow of his drink. Some part of his brain told him not to speak, a large part of his brain, really. The Vanguard had been everything he’d known for so long. Was he really going to sell them out after Drifter had been nice to him for a few days? But something drove him forward, something in him—foolish and naïve—trusted Drifter for reasons he couldn’t explain.</p><p>“I asked Zavala about you.” He told Drifter. “Why he’s been letting you stay in the Tower. He asked me to spy on you for him.”</p><p>Casimir raised his eyes to Drifter’s face to look for a reaction, but found none.</p><p>“He doesn’t think you’re a threat to the city,” he continued after a brief moment, “but I’m guessing he’s prepared for that to change. I’m probably not the only person he asked to spy on you.”</p><p>Drifter nodded, half to himself, and Casimir didn’t notice where the green coin had come from as he began to flip it in his hand.</p><p>“What do you think?” He asked him after a long moment, still flipping the coin even as he watched Casimir’s face.</p><p>“About what?” He asked, frowning for a moment only to agitate the burns on his face as he furrowed his brows.</p><p>“’Bout me. Do you think I’m a threat?” Drifter asked, his eyes tracking Casimir’s every movement as he winced and raised a hand to ghost his fingers over the burn. He watched him take a breath and shake off the slight pain before he rose his eyes to Drifter’s once more.</p><p>“I think…” The words swelled and pushed their way forth before he could stop them. “I think the Guardians have been needing someone like you for a long, long time. I think the Vanguard knows that, and I think it scares them.”</p><p>The grin that spread over Drifter’s face made his skin tingle, but he held his gaze as he Drifter watched him.</p><p>“Brother, I like your style. Stick around and you might just find yourself a part of my crew.”</p><p>He rose his glass to the rogue with a little nod, and when he took a large swallow he prayed the alcohol would burn off any of the lingering discomfort lodged in his gut.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I'm too tired to edit this right now but I promise I will! If you found any typos I'm sorry!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. At the Gates</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>After his raid on Riven, Casimir seeks out Drifter to drink and forget, and things escalate a little more than they expected.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello! It's been far too long since I've updated this but I decided to make this fic explicit, so smut warning starting now. Also, I've never written smut before so I hope it's not too bad and I really hope no one I know finds this fic because I really might die if they did. Also this chapter is quite a bit longer than all the other ones but it's still like 50% smut.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Casimir kept his gaze forward as he stood before the gates to the Dreaming City. He kept his gaze on those monolithic doors of ornate stone, barring their way into the heart of the Dreaming City. It was all he could do to keep his eyes off his teammates, to keep his eyes off Zuliea, and his head from the fresh hurt that arose just at being within her presence.</p><p> </p><p>Zuliea was—or had been, he supposed—the closest thing to a friend he’d ever had. She was warlock, fierce and bold, with a will stronger than a Titan’s arm and wits quicker than a Hunter’s sprint. And before Cayde’s death, they’d been practically inseparable.</p><p> </p><p>The Warlock orders were structured differently, but to Casimir, Zuliea was Ikora’s second in command, or as close to it as anyone would ever be. As Zavala’s own right hand in the field, and the Traveler’s chosen, she and Casimir were always out on missions together, always following the same agenda, always doing whatever they could to lighten the loads of their respective Vanguards. Until Zavala had told him no and Casimir had decided that for the first time, he wasn’t going to sit back and agree. That’s when everything had gone to shit.</p><p> </p><p>After Cayde’s death—Casimir’s friend, mentor and a leader that deserved more respect and actions than Zavala was offering—he’d gone to the Tangled Shore after Uldren, had spent two weeks tearing himself apart while he hunted the Barons, then the Awoken Prince himself. After all of it, he’d returned home, and as broken and battered as he was, he’d gone to Zuliea, he’d thought she could help him, and instead she’d—</p><p> </p><p>He couldn’t stop his flinch at the hand that landed on his shoulder, but it remained even as his muscles jerked into tension and held it firmly, even as he recognized the man that gripped him. His fireteam leader, Tiber—a strong, dark skinned human Titan—assessed him with a wary gaze. His helmet was off, as were a few of the other’s, the two twin hunters and their second warlock teammate, everyone but himself and Zuliea. Well. He had an excuse, but it was just like Zuliea to hide her emotions, especially as he glanced back to see her facing directly towards him, her gaze likely locked straight on his own helmet.</p><p> </p><p>He let out a heavy sigh, forcibly removing the tensions from his body as he looked back to Tiber at his right.</p><p> </p><p>“Are you ready for this?” The other Titan asked him, his gaze still assessing. But there was concern in his eyes, too, and something in Casimir’s chest softened a little as he drew in a shaking breath. “I know it’s been tough for you, these past few weeks.”</p><p> </p><p>Casimir nodded, lowering his head for a moment before returning his gaze to the doors.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah,” He breathed. It was as much as he would admit to, and only Tiber would get that much from him. “I’ll be alright.”</p><p> </p><p>After everything that had happened to him, after everything that had happened to Cayde, he knew what Tiber was thinking. He knew he could bring Cayde back with a single wish, without even having to voice the words he could return things to what they’d once been, fix himself, fix everything. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t wish from an Ahamkara. He couldn’t do that to himself, or to anyone. He wasn’t even entirely sure of the logic behind it all, but he knew it would do more harm than good.</p><p> </p><p>So, he steeled his mind, raising his gaze again to Tiber’s face and giving him a little nod.</p><p> </p><p>“Let’s just get this over with.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The fighting was terrible. The challenge though, he enjoyed. The raid was like nothing he’d ever done before, the mechanics of it so overwhelming it forced his worries from his mind as he had to just act and act and act. He had no time to think, no time to question, no time to feel the regret and the anger and the ache that had hung heavy in his body for so many weeks. But as soon as there was a lapse in the battle, as soon as he had enough time to breathe, they all came crashing back down. An overwhelming onslaught of the terrible reality that followed him just about everywhere he went. Every time he thought he was free of it, it was there once more, crashing down on him, suffocating him.</p><p> </p><p>He took Riven’s heart in his hands when the time came. He moved without thinking, his body still cold and distant from the ascendant realm, he shouldered past Tiber before the fireteam leader could touch it, taking the filthy, wretched core of the monster in his hands and carrying it out all by himself. He didn’t know if Tiber had tried to speak to him about it after he was done. He hadn’t been able to hear much. The only thing in his brain had been Riven’s words, crooning to him in Zavala’s voice. They were connected, bonded, forever now. They echoed to him over and over as they left the city and he climbed back onto his ship, and the desire to forget them had him piloting his ship not to the Tower, but to the Derelict, and the massive Haul behind it, the ship dragging it though orbit as it circled the Earth.</p><p> </p><p>“That you, Hero?” A voice spoke up over his coms, and he should have flinched to the sudden noise, but he scarcely reacted at all.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah.” He responded; his voice gruff. “I…need a drinking partner.” He told the man, using his bond with his Ghost to have her summon a bottle of alcohol from his apartment. Perhaps out of defiance, she summoned the worst bottle he owned, but he couldn’t have cared less. “You down?”</p><p> </p><p>“Sure.” Drifter hummed, “Long as you’re bringing the booze this time.”</p><p> </p><p>“Already got some.” He answered, glancing at the bottle his Ghost had summoned. He didn’t take Drifter to be a picky man, but he wouldn’t put it past him to complain.</p><p> </p><p>“C’mon down then, Hero.” Drifter’s voice cut into his thoughts once more before the comms clicked off, and he pushed off whatever feeling hummed in his gut as he pushed his way out of his seat and headed for the rear of his ship.</p><p> </p><p>“Cas, what are you doing?”</p><p> </p><p>A voice spoke up from beside him, and he paused as his Ghost floated into his way, hovering just in front of his face.</p><p> </p><p>“You know this guy is trouble.” She warned. “Why do you want to spend time with him?”</p><p> </p><p>“Why not?” He deflected, raising a hand to push her to the side, out of his way. His touch was still gentle, even as annoyance colored his tone. “I don’t care what the Vanguard thinks of him. I can judge people on my own.”</p><p> </p><p>His Ghost made a pouting look that was a little too familiar to him as he stepped past her.</p><p> </p><p>“Fine.” She announced when he looked back at her. “I’m waiting up here. Call me when you’re done.”</p><p> </p><p>He didn’t make a comment about how that was what he’d wanted, instead giving her a little nod and letting her transmatt him down into the massive ship waiting below.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Drifter was waiting for him when he landed in the transmatt zone in the ship below, seated at a little card table set up in the center of the metal walkway that ran along the back edge of the room. He was seated with his feet kicked back on the table, flipping a coin into the air before catching it in a fist and repeating the motion. He paused when Casimir’s feet hit the metal floors, glancing up and giving him a little nod in greeting. His eyes stayed on him as Casimir moved to join him, seating himself on the open stool set at the card table. He set the bottle of alcohol in between them and the rogue grinned.</p><p> </p><p>“Hah. Whatever’s cheap, huh?” He remarked, though he’d already pulled his feet off the table and was sliding a glass across the table to him, knocking back the amber liquid still remaining in his own. “Well, I ain’t complainin’.” He filled his glass halfway with the drink, the slid the bottle across the table to Casimir. He made the motion look smooth, but Casimir had a feeling if he’d done the same thing, he’d have spilled the entire bottle and likely shattered both glasses. It was just how his luck seemed to be going at this point.</p><p> </p><p>He let out a little sigh, reaching up to undo the locks of his helmet. After everything that had just happened, he wasn’t exactly in the mood to think about his bad luck. Hardly more than an hour had passed since he’d released a curse on the entire Dreaming City and had bonded his soul with that of an all-powerful monster. Which was really the reason why he was here, to drink, and to forget. He pushed off his helmet, dropping his head forward as he brought it down to rest on the floor beside his stool, just beside his foot. Insecurity crept in as he raised his head, recalling the burns still lingering over his face and neck, and he reached out to take the bottle to busy himself as Drifter looked at him.</p><p> </p><p>“Wow, hotshot. Don’t get me wrong, you’re quite a sight for these old eyes, but you don’t look too good.” He said, and Casimir raised an eyebrow, only to lower it in pain, the motion shifting his face enough to bring pain into the burn on his cheek and ear. “Your team take out that thing in the Dreaming City yet?”</p><p> </p><p>He nodded, taking the glass Drifter had slid him and pouring himself some of the drink. Mercifully, Drifter didn’t comment when he knocked back the contents of his cup in two swallows and poured himself another.</p><p> </p><p>“We just got back.” He answered, then found himself continuing when Drifter hadn’t even asked. “Killing Riven unleashed a curse on the whole city.”</p><p> </p><p>He took a deep swallow as Drifter hummed. “Well. No wonder you needed a drinking partner.” He took the bottle from the center of the table, and Casimir didn’t complain when he topped off the drink he’d only just lowered from his lips before topping off his own. “What made you come to me?”</p><p> </p><p>The question made Casimir pause, because he honestly wasn’t entirely sure. He’d just <em>wanted </em>to. He felt drawn to the Drifter in a way he couldn’t explain, and as achy and in pain as he was, he’d rather drink crappy alcohol with the man than play Gambit until he was ready to drop. Besides, Drifter had been able to make him feel better the last time he’d gone to speak with him, perhaps he could do it again.</p><p> </p><p>He didn’t tell the rouge any of that, though. Instead, he only shrugged.</p><p> </p><p>“You told me to stick around.” He recalled from their previous night drinking. “I wanted you to know I haven’t forgotten. And you’re about as far from the Vanguard as I can get.”</p><p> </p><p>Drifter laughed at the last bit, leaning back in his chair to kick his legs back up onto the table between them.</p><p> </p><p>“The Vanguard don’t treat you like I do.” He reminded him. “I pay you well, keep you entertained. They don’t realize what they’ve got.”</p><p> </p><p>He gave a little humorless laugh in response, taking another swallow of his drink to ease the hurt that surfaced at the truth in the words. The Vanguard did value him, they had for a long time, but as he kept following their orders and doing their bidding, they’d forgotten he wasn’t a guarantee, that he wouldn’t always <em>want </em>to help them. They’d stopped giving him a choice. He’d only been willing to tolerate it for so long.</p><p> </p><p>“Part of me…” He let out his breath, not quite sure why the words were coming out of his mouth, but they were. Perhaps he’d already drank far too much. “Part of me feels guilty for going after Uldren. Like I did a bad thing hunting him down, like the Vanguard’s loss of trust in me is my fault.”</p><p> </p><p>Drifter eyed him over the rim of his glass for a moment before speaking. Casimir had a feeling he was just as confused as he was about the sudden openness from him.</p><p> </p><p>“Well, the Vanguard not trustin’ you no more ain’t anyone’s fault but yours.” He said, “But that don’t gotta be a bad thing.” He took another sip, his face shifting into a grin. “Or it could be. Sometimes we’ve gotta be bad guys to get what we want.”</p><p> </p><p>Casimir had to look away from the grin on the man’s face.</p><p> </p><p>“Maybe.” He responded quietly.</p><p> </p><p>Drifter let out a little huff of a breath.</p><p> </p><p>“Chin up, Hero.” He chided, “This could be a good thing. Forget the Vanguard, come run for me. I could use someone like you. You bein’ a godslayer and all that.”</p><p> </p><p>Casimir only hummed in response, his gaze still down on his drink in his hand. It was as much as he could really manage.</p><p> </p><p>“Think about it.” Drifter offered when he didn’t speak, his voice just a little softer now. “I’ll always have a job for you if you want it.”</p><p> </p><p>He did glance up at that, trying to read the Drifter’s intent through his eyes. He knew the Drifter was always planning, always preparing for the end of the world. To use a word like always, to tell him that he’d always have a job for him…it had to mean something. But before he could figure it out, the other man cleared his throat with a cough, taking another swallow of his drink before setting it down on the table before them with a thunk.</p><p> </p><p>“So, what’s that city like?” He asked, “The Dreaming City.”</p><p> </p><p>Casimir frowned at him. “You haven’t been?” He knew the Dreaming City was sacred to the Awoken, one of their closest guarded secrets, but Drifter was also the most well-traveled person he knew. He’d assumed he would have been right in to see it as soon as it had opened up for Guardians to enter, if not before.</p><p> </p><p>“Nah.” He answered, shaking his head. “I’d heard about it before now, but I ain’t awoken. With it bein’ sacred and all that, I got enough enemies already, didn’t wanna add a queen to the list.”</p><p> </p><p>He nodded in understanding, taking a sip of his drink while the other man spoke, then letting out a little sigh as he thought it over, the alcohol burning its way to his belly.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s very…ethereal.” He told the Drifter, half expecting the rogue to laugh at his choice of word. He didn’t. “The whole place is built out of precious rocks and stones, there’s lights and huge statues everywhere. It’s beautiful, but it’s also overrun with scorn. And now Taken, too. It looks like a lot of it was damaged following the Taken war, and it hasn’t had the chance to recover and rebuild yet.”</p><p> </p><p>“You hear ‘bout how it was made?”</p><p> </p><p>He grimaced a little at the question, calling back to mind Riven’s words again, something about her carving the city into the ‘screaming surface of reality.’ Had it been a wish of someone’s? Perhaps something Mara had instructed the Ahamkara to create? He wasn’t sure, but Riven had sounded angry about it, like the maker of the city had abused her in some way to force her to create it, and from what he knew of Mara and Riven, that didn’t fit.</p><p> </p><p>“Riven mentioned it.” He told the Drifter simply. “She didn’t say much about it, and we didn’t ask any questions.”</p><p> </p><p>The other man hummed, nodding a little at that.</p><p> </p><p>“Well, that’s probably for the best. Wouldn’t stick around an Ahamkara if I could avoid it.” He said, and Casimir nodded. He hadn’t wanted to, either. Thankfully, Drifter was quick to change the subject.</p><p> </p><p>He asked him about the Tangled Shore, not about what it was like—he’d been there plenty and they both knew it—but about what it had been like for him, pursuing Uldren and working with Petra and the Spider. To Casimir’s surprise, he actually answered him, telling the other man about fighting the Barons and Uldren and what it’d been like to spend weeks out there on his own. He felt raw until Drifter opened a second bottle, and then the conversation shifted to lighter topics. They talked about all the places Drifter had visited and Casimir felt sucked in to his stories as he spoke, recalling tales of fights and disasters and victories and mysteries. When they got to Gambit, Casimir felt heat flood his stomach at the drops of praise Drifter sprinkled about when he recalled Casimir’s own participation in the game, and by the time they were halfway through the second bottle both men wore lazy smiles.</p><p> </p><p>“If you keep coming ‘round here, I’d better start charging you rent.” Drifter told him after their conversation had lapsed into silence, Casimir hadn’t realized over an hour had passed until the Drifter spoke.</p><p> </p><p>“I can pay.” He answered, reaching into a pocket and drawing out a handful of glimmer. His chestplate and gauntlets lay discarded on the floor, thrown off when he’d decided they were too restrictive. He wasn’t drunk—being a Guardian and a large male Titan made that exceptionally difficult—but he was a little more than buzzed as he smiled at the Drifter as he held up the glimmer, not questioning himself as his tone took on a bit of a sultry edge.</p><p> </p><p>Perhaps noticing his tone, the Drifter grinned.</p><p> </p><p>“I wasn’t thinking glimmer.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh?” His brows rose this time without sparking pain, and his heart began to thump in his chest as he tucked the glimmer back where it had come. “I can probably offer something else.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah? What you got?”</p><p> </p><p>There was definitely suggestion in his tone now as the Drifter’s grin turned near feral. His heart stuttered a beat at the sight of it, only to pick up its heavy rhythm. <em>Thump, thump, thump. </em>Still, Casimir put on his best smile as he set his drink down on the table, carefully out of the way.</p><p> </p><p>“Why don’t you come and find out?”</p><p> </p><p>As if that was precisely what the rogue had been waiting for, he struck quickly. The words had scarcely left his lips before there was a hand knotted in the collar of his undersuit, hauling him off his stool and over the table, his mouth crashing into Drifter’s. He hadn’t meant to gasp in surprise, but he did, his mouth opening against the Drifter’s as he tried to suck in a breath, only for the other man’s tongue to crash in where he’d expected to have air.</p><p> </p><p>The contact was intense, hot against the derelict’s cold, and Casimir wasn’t sure if it was his body, the alcohol or his own solar light bubbling up to bring the heat straight to his core. He braced his hands on the table as Drifter pushed against him harder, and he couldn’t bite back his groan as the rogue bit down on his lip with enough pressure to bruise. He hurried to close the gap between their bodies, rising fully from the stool and doing his best to edge around the table while maintaining the contact between their lips. Drifter met him in the middle, and his back was against the edge of the card table with Drifter standing between his spread legs when they finally broke apart.</p><p> </p><p>“That what you’ve been comin’ around for?” The Drifter asked him, a sharp grin on his flushed face. “The Vanguard sure as hell don’t treat you like that.”</p><p> </p><p>“This isn’t about the Vanguard.” He managed breathlessly, and Drifter shook his head with a false laugh.</p><p> </p><p>“Right. Not like you told me you were tryin’ ta get away from ‘em.” There was bitterness in the Drifter’s tone now, and Casimir honestly wasn’t sure when he’d begun to go wrong. Perhaps it had been when he’d first come, when he’d first told the Drifter those words, had put it into his head that he was only seeking out the rogue’s company because he wasn’t the Vanguard.</p><p><br/>
“No,” he started, “that’s not what I meant. I didn’t-“</p><p> </p><p>Drifter shook his head again, cutting him off with a raised hand.</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t care. You wanna fuck me to get back at those bastards ‘cause I’m a bad guy, I’m all for it.” He told him, and Casimir was at a complete loss for words. “But I seem to remember you were just about to pay up.”</p><p> </p><p>Both his hands were in knotted in his undersuit now, and Casimir followed his lead as the Drifter switched their positions, moving to press his own back to the table while Casimir stood in front of him. He used his fists to guide him down, and Casimir obeyed as Drifter brought him to his armored knees.</p><p> </p><p>If Drifter wasn’t about to listen to what he had to say, if he wouldn’t believe his words when he told him he didn’t want him because of the Vanguard, perhaps he’d just have to prove it to him another way.</p><p> </p><p>His eyes flicked up to the Drifter’s as he braced his hands on the man’s hips, one of Drifter’s coming up to curl in Casimir’s dark hair while the other held lightly to the edge of the table. He brought his eyes back down as he reached up to the thick belt slung across the Drifter’s hips. It was high enough that he could avoid it if he really wanted to, but with the heat that was growing in his gut, he’d rather they both be wearing less clothes than more. He undid the thick strap with a little tug, letting it fall back onto the table behind him. Drifter didn’t comment as his hands returned to his waist, pushing aside his robe to pull the dark fabric that wrapped around his waist from his right side, pulling it free and pushing it behind the Drifer as well, reaching the last layer before his black shirt, a green robelike layer that wrapped around Drifter’s torso in a similar fashion, tucked into his pants. He pulled this free and tugged up the shirt below to reveal his bare torso, his motions just a little rough from growing impatience. It wasn’t until he as trying to unclothe him that he really realized how many layers the man actually wore.</p><p> </p><p>He leaned close to the exposed skin, pushing Drifter’s shirt up higher to reveal his muscled abdomen flecked with scars and blemishes. Even the thin strip of dark hair running up from under the waist of his pants was interrupted by scars, and he leaded in to press soft, open mouthed kisses to each one. Starting at Drifter’s hips, he moved his way down towards the center of Drifter’s abdomen, trailing down from either side until he’d made it to the spot where the strip of hair ended, and he rose up from where he’d settled back to sit on his legs, rising up to kiss his way up the Drifter’s torso, up and up until he made it to the spot just below where his ribs met, then up, to his sternum, one hand holding Drifter’s shirt up at his chest to bare the skin to his touch. Drifter let him go for only a few moments before he tugged on Casimir’s hair and he had to stifle his groan against the other man’s stomach.</p><p> </p><p>“Quit stallin’.” He snapped, though he milked Casimir’s groan, easing up his grip on his hair slowly as Casimir’s hands dropped to grip his hips tightly, pressing his face hard into the Drifter’s stomach as the slight pain sent heat coursing through his body.</p><p> </p><p>Once Drifter had let up on his hair, he pulled himself back so only his forehead was pressing against the other man’s stomach, his eyes closed briefly as he gave himself a moment to breathe. When he opened them, they settled on the growing tent in the Drifter’s pants, and he swallowed hard. Licking his lips, he eased his hands down, finding the belt at Drifter’s pants and undoing it gently, following with the clasp and the zipper, until he could slide his pants and underwear down just enough to free Drifter’s straining cock.</p><p> </p><p>His hands went back to Drifter’s hips as he stared, his own body tightening at the sight of it, his breath even going a little ragged. Well, Drifter certainly wasn’t compensating for anything, that much was for sure. Perhaps he was looking too long, for Drifter edged him on with another little tug on his hair, and he kept his responding noise in the back of his throat even as he leaned into it. One of his hands slid down from Drifter’s hip to take his length in his hand, and he slid his legs apart a little on the floor to lower himself down to level his mouth with the thick member.</p><p> </p><p>He started slow, opening his mouth to run his tongue along the underside, slow and hot and sensual, sliding back to circle the tip with his tongue before ever so slowly wrapping his mouth around it. His heart pounded as he slowly moved up, working him in his hand as he slid his hand back and his mouth forward to take more and more. He had hardly made it more than halfway before Drifter’s hips bucked forward so quickly, he tightened his grip in panic, and Drifter let out a sharp curse. He was quick to ease it, though, forcing the other man back against the table with the hand still on his hip, sucking in a breath around the man’s cock still occupying his mouth as he suppressed the urge to gag. As soon as he was sure he wouldn’t, he picked up his pace, using his tongue and hand in tandem to work him over while he kept him pressed firmly against the table with his free hand.</p><p> </p><p>He was only just pulling back to breathe when Drifter’s hand tightened on his hair to the point of pain, and he groaned around him as the man kept him close with a firm grip. Drifter moaned to match him, and his hips stuttered forward against his hand. It was Casimir this time who drew out his own groan, taking as much of the other man into his mouth as he could while he shifted the noise to sound low in his throat, rumbling along every inch of Drifter in his mouth. Even as his second hand came up to brace on the man’s hips, he couldn’t quite stop him from thrusting forward, and he felt his throat tighten reflexively, enough that Drifter let out a sharp curse, and suddenly he was dragging him upright.</p><p> </p><p>He was on the table before he was sure what was happening, and Drifter’s mouth was crashing into his, their tongues clashing as Casimir scrambled to retaliate. Drifter’s hands were on him, lifting him to get at the zipper at the back of his undersuit while Casimir scrambled to get out of his leg armor. His whole body was burning with heat now, and he felt it wrapped around his core as Drifter’s hand found the zipper at his back and worked it down, tearing him out of the upper half of his undersuit, his hand quickly finding the skin of his bare chest, then lower, helping him with his armor until he was palming at his clothed erection and Casimir moaned into his mouth.</p><p> </p><p>“What is it that you want, Hero?” Drifter breathed in his ear, stopping Casimir from leaning after him with a hand as he pulled away from their kiss, his other hand still rubbing at Casimir’s length.</p><p> </p><p>“Please—” He broke off with a gasp, his eyes opening sharply to stare at the open, empty space of the derelict above him while Drifter pressed a kiss below his ear.</p><p> </p><p>“Please what?” He pressed; his lips so close to Casimir’s ear they sent him shivering.</p><p> </p><p>“Fuck.” He cursed, shutting his eyes tight as he raised one of his hands to grip Drifter’s wrist, his hand now braced beside his head. He balled the other one in Drifter’s shirt, holding tight to it like a lifeline. “Please…fuck me.”</p><p> </p><p>Drifter’s laugh was a snarl in his ear, and he flipped him so quick he couldn’t stop his face from colliding with the table suddenly below it, pain sparking in his nose. His groan of pain wasn’t nearly as sensual this time, though Drifter shut him up quickly enough, an arm suddenly snaking around his waist to undo his belt with surprising ease. As soon as his belt was out of the way, Drifter made quick work of the clasp on his pants, and suddenly his remaining layers were being yanked from his body, bearing him to the cold of the derelict, and the heat of Drifter’s body against his.</p><p> </p><p>Casimir scrambled half onto his side to kick free the layers, his hands rushing to the locks to the greaves still tight around his feet and legs. He fumbled with them for a few moments, the fine motor skills made much harder as Drifter stroked him in his hand, his mouth pressing hot kisses against his shoulders and back. Thankfully, Drifter didn’t let him struggle for too long, releasing him and leaning back to knock away Casimir’s hands and undo the locks himself, helping him push off the armor and underlayers as soon as the greaves clicked open. They clanked to the floor and he was back on his stomach, Drifter dragging him back towards the edge of the bed with firm hands on his hips. His toes brushed the floor as Drifter dragged him back, straining to take his weight from where he lay halfway on the table. He was still trying to shift himself when he cried out in more pain than pleasure, his entire body locking up as Drifter bit down on the lingering burn where his shoulder met his neck, just as he pushed into him too quickly for Casimir to handle.</p><p> </p><p>He didn’t hear Drifter’s murmured apologies as he pushed his face down against the table, hissing in pain at the sudden intrusion. His whole body was suddenly riddled with tension, as if they hadn’t just spent over an hour drinking, and as hot as he’d felt before, the derelict’s cold on his exposed skin certainly wasn’t helping anything. Still, Drifter had gone still behind him, no longer pushing forward, but his hands ran up from his hips to his torso, leaning down to press his body close to Casimir’s as one of his arms reached around him to hold them closer together, Casimir’s back flush with Drifter’s chest.</p><p> </p><p>“Casimir,” Drifter breathed his name against his neck, warm and soft against him, his lips so close they brushed over his skin and Casimir stilled. He wasn’t sure Drifter had ever said his name to him before. Always calling him Hero or hotshot or brother. He’d actually accepted that he probably wasn’t going to hear the Drifter say it well…ever. But to hear it now, it brought the heat back to his gut, and he used his hands to push himself up from the table, further against the Drifter’s chest, even as he let out a little pained whine at what the movement did to his still rigid body.</p><p> </p><p>“Easy.” Drifter growled in his ear, guiding him back down so his forearms were braced against the table. “Do you want to stop?”</p><p> </p><p>Casimir shook his head almost frantically. “No, no. Just-“ He hissed again as he shifted his hips, causing Drifter to slip a little deeper while he tried and failed to purge the tension from his body with deep breaths. “Just…a little warning would’ve been nice.”</p><p> </p><p>“Sorry.” The rogue murmured to him, his voice now a deep rumble as his hands slipped back to Casimir’s hips. “Just relax. This’ll be a lot better if you’re not so tense.”</p><p> </p><p>Casimir couldn’t follow his directions so easily, but he did his best, letting Drifter help him as the other man worked little circles into Casimir’s lower back with his thumbs, pressing light kisses along his spine. He closed his eyes, focusing on breathing deep and slow, until the tension he’d been holding onto slowly eased. Drifter waited until he was ready to start moving, one of his hands finding Casimir’s and taking his wrists, pulling them up to pin them above his head while the other held onto his hip. Slowly, he eased in, inch by inch, until Casimir was gasping and Drifter’s hips moved to press flush with his ass. He gave him a good few moments to adjust, then slowly began to move.</p><p> </p><p>Drifter set an easy pace, not nearly as rough as Casimir would have guessed, though he had a feeling he was only starting out slow, and would pick up as they continued. He eased out only a little at first, slipping back before pressing his hips forward again to firmly push himself back in. Gradually, he slid out more and more, his motions growing stronger as he moved, until he was thrusting nearly all the way in and back out again and Casimir couldn’t contain his noises as pleasure coursed through him with every motion.</p><p> </p><p>He was nearing the edge when Drifter’s hand let go of his hip, snaking below him to take Casimir’s length in his hand and work it so well he nearly cried out. He came with a sharp cry, Drifter pushing him through the throughs of it until he buried himself inside him and fell right over that edge with him.</p><p> </p><p>Casimir didn’t know how long they lay pressed together, Drifter having finally released his hands and wrapped his arms loosely around Casimir’s body, his face pressed against the titan’s back. It felt like a wonderful, calm eternity, only it was over much too soon when Drifter slid out of him and both men shuddered, Casimir’s back arching just so from the sensitivity. He rolled onto his back once Drifter had moved, watching through half lidded eyes as Drifter ducked out of the large main room and disappeared into the hallway, returning a minute or two later with a damp cloth in his hands.</p><p> </p><p>He hissed at the chill of it when Drifter set it against his stomach, working to clean up the mess he’d made of himself. Drifter shook his head at him, setting his warm hand over the path the cold cloth had made, Casimir’s abs flexing as he pushed himself up to lean back on his elbows. Drifter whistled at the sight of them, running a hand along the hard muscles with an appreciative look.</p><p> </p><p>“Suppose bein’ a godslayer has its perks.” He remarked, and Casimir huffed a laugh, not able to manage much more as exhausted as he was. After fighting for long hours, doing <em>that, </em>and with the alcohol in his system, it was enough to make him ache for a warm bed. Though, that wasn’t really what he was expecting from the Drifter.</p><p> </p><p>“I guess you could say that.” He answered the other man, accepting the cloth when Drifter handed it to him, slipping off the table to stand on the cold metal floors below while he wiped up the fluids that had made their way down the backs of his thighs.</p><p> </p><p>Drifter had already cleaned himself up and tucked himself back into his pants, and with only his outer layers missing, Casimir realized with a spark of insecurity that the rogue was much more clothed than he was, standing naked on the cold derelict floors as he wiped down the table before folding the cloth in on itself and setting it aside. When he turned, he saw Drifter had already set to retrieving his clothes from where they’d been strewn around the space, and he accepted his underwear and underarmor when the other man handed them over. He slipped into them a little stiffly, following with the top half of his underarmor and then his undersuit, and by the time he’d locked himself back into his armor, Drifter was sitting back at the table, polishing off his drink as he watched him.</p><p> </p><p>“I was serious ‘bout you runnin’ with me.” Drifter told him when Casimir faced him, buckling the plates on his arms, his gloves set on the edge of the table. “And this-“ he gestured between them, “-doesn’t have to be a common thing unless you want it to.”</p><p> </p><p>Casimir frowned a little in thought, glancing down as he picked up his gloves, turning them over in his hands. “I didn’t do this because of the Vanguard.” He said quietly, lifting his eyes to Drifter’s. “I don’t care what they think of me, not anymore. I do want to join your crew. And I wouldn’t mind doing this again. If you’d like to, of course.” He said, stumbling through his words a little, struggling to keep eye contact, instead glancing down at his gloves every so often as he turned them over in his hands before finally slipping his hand into one. He slipped his hand into his second glove and was tightening it around his hand as Drifter gave him a winning smile.</p><p> </p><p>“You’re always welcome on the Derelict, Hero.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>He couldn’t take one step into his ship before his Ghost was hovering in front of him. She took one look at him and gaped, her shell falling open for three long seconds before she shut it quickly, just barely drifting out of his way as he stepped past her.</p><p> </p><p>“You <em>didn’t.</em>” She managed, and Casimir just moved past her and into the cockpit.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, be quiet.” He responded, though his tone wasn’t harsh or firm. It was light, just as his chest felt. He knew there were problems, he knew the world was a mess of taken and scorn and hive, but at the end of the day, he supposed it would really all be okay. And maybe, if he did run with Drifter, he could help keep it that way.</p><p> </p><p>His Ghost was not inclined to follow his instructions, but he found he didn’t quite mind her telling him just how irresponsible and stupid and thick-headed he was as he piloted his ship away from the derelict and back to the Tower, back to where he knew a home and a warm bed waited for him, no matter how battered or bruised.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hope y'all enjoyed that and it wasn't too much. There's a balance to these things and I think I still need to figure it out. Anyways, until next time!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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